what's left to lose, anyways
by jynxhasadragon
Summary: in which a lone hunter begins to spin a web of cunning and deceit, a golden-eyed warlock meets some questionable folk, and a newly-rezzed guardian is forced to question all she thought to be truth. "the line between light and dark is so very thin. do you know which side you're on?" [on hiatus, sorry]
1. death of legend

**and so the revision process has begun**

 **im excited :)**

~o:O:o~

He nearly collapsed as the fire left him.

The lone Hunter stood on the ridge, panting heavily and hands shaking as his eyes fell to the gun clenched in his fist. Then to the man—no, the monster—that lay dead at his feet. The creature's leftmost side was nonexistent, seared from reality itself with an unnatural flame. It's armor was burnt, the ashes of it's skin staining the ridged plates of it's armor.

It had been a menace to man, a creature transformed in the Dark. Such a creature never should have graced the lone Hunter's home.

He felt a small measure of joy, of accomplishment, as he stared at the remains of what had been his greatest enemy. He had avenged, he had accomplished, he had _conquered_ –

Would the man he had called his father be proud of him?

He fell to his knees, still breathing heavily as he sunk into contemplation. What would his response have been, if he were here now? Not an easy question to answer. Jaren Ward had been a clever man, one hard to see the true intent of. He had smiled at his enemies and gone stone cold to those he had cared for.

His gun was still firmly gripped in his hands, shining brightly in the evening light. His gun now, truly, forged into an extension of himself in his fire.

What would he do now? Where would he go?

He looked towards the deepening sky before him, the distant stars poking through to his small world as the sun slipped away. So many stars, so much left unexplored. Had the light of those stars been corrupted?

He turned back to the body of the monster beside him. It's gun had been subject to an immense amount of heat, re-shaping the dark metal in some places. Was this who he was to be?

He closed his eyes in silence as his Ghost materialized beside him.

And for the first time in a long time, the lone Hunter felt lost.


	2. lollipop

Ezio Auditore, former Mentor of the Assassin Brotherhood and current head assassin of the Tower, was struggling with a child.

To be fair, he hadn't expected to walk into his room to find no less than a five-year-old human child seated on his bed, staring wondrously at a certain object in her hands. Namely, one of his knives, all of which he made sure to keep extra sharp. A sharp blade was painless, a quick slit at the throat leaving a target with a quick and easy death.

"Don't touch that, _piccolo_ , you'll hurt yourself."

She looked up towards him with wide chocolate eyes before saying something in a language he didn't understand. He stared at her blankly, his hand still outstretched towards her for his knife. How had she gotten in here, anyways? He brushed the thought aside. She was here now, so he might as well deal with it. He could turn her over to Eldewhin later, since she seemed to know everyone in the City, anyways.

"Я тебя знаю."

He blinked.

"She's speaking Russian, Ezio," his Ghost, Rico, whispered to him. Ezio grimaced.

"That's helpful."

He gestured towards the knife in her small hands, then made a motion towards himself. "You give it to me, _piccolo_?"

Her gaze didn't waver for a moment, not even bothering to look towards the blade clutched in her hands.

" _Che cavolo_ , why is this so difficult?" he grumbled. He never was particularly 'good' with children, but this...this was just straight up annoying, if not infuriating. Rico twirled in annoyance as Ezio sat himself down on his bed.

"Maybe Ikora would help," the Ghost suggested.

"She's even worse with kids than I am, what makes you think that'd help?" he drawled.

"She speaks Russian."

Oh.

He sighed and ran his hand through unruly dark hair. "I suppose, but…"

"But?"

"Ikora is...slightly intimidating."

"You don't say."

Ezio chuckled to himself before looking back down towards the small girl. She looked back up to him for a moment, before placing the blade on his lap and sliding off his bed.

He nodded slowly towards the blade in his lap, then towards the dark-haired girl in thanks as he slipped it into an empty sheath.

"Ты помнишь меня?"

"What?"

"Don't you think it's a bit strange to have a little girl like her in here, anyways?" Rico asked. Ezio shrugged before breaking his gaze away from the child as he fished around his pouch. It was, he had to admit, but whatever had happened had happened, and now she was here. True, he was curious to know _how_ , exactly, she had managed to get in without triggering any of his alarms. But it didn't seem entirely possible to ask such a young child such a question, especially with the language barrier between them. So, he ultimately decided to shrug it off and roll with the punches thrown.

He eventually dug out a lollipop from his pouch before handing it to her as thanks for the knife. She took it eagerly and pulled the wrapper off, revealing a (slightly cracked) orb of blue candy. She seemed to hesitate, though, examining the treat and looking up to him for confirmation before sticking it in her mouth with a smile.

Ezio couldn't help but grin in return. "What's your name?" he asked. She cocked her head at him, still sucking the candy. He sighed.

"Ezio," he said, gesturing towards himself. "I...am...Ezio."

She seemed to catch on rather quickly, if her response was any proof. "Ezio," she repeated with a blue-stained tongue, pointing to him as she spoke. He nodded and smiled.

"Ezio," he said again, gesturing towards himself. Then he pointed towards the girl.

"Ezio," she repeated , before turning her finger towards herself. "Elsie," she replied, before she winked out of existence.

~o:O:o~

 ** _piccolo_ \- little one**

 ** _che cavolo_ \- literally translated, 'what cabbage'. italian equivalent of 'what the hell'**

 **feel free to translate the russian, but i'll leave it out for plot purposes**

 **and ig chapters will be vv short, lol**

 **but yes! the importance of this scene will become relevant later on** **but for now, have some 'daddy' ezio**


	3. missing link

Altaïr has always had a strange relationship with the Vanguard. They needed him, but—well, he didn't exactly need _them_ to carry on his work. Capable medical doctors were in high demand in the Tower, despite most of the inhabitants therein being immortal warriors. Some wounds the Light could not heal, unfortunately, and Altaïr had made it his many lives' goal to discover why that was.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Altaïr looked up from his paper-strewn desk to find a certain Exo Warlock waiting before him.

"Desmond," he stated simply. "What brings you here? You know well enough that wire and circuit are not my expertise."

"Well, you do well enough of a job anyways," the Warlock replied. "That's not why I'm here, though."

"I figured as much. Any word from Arno?"

Desmond noticeably cringed and turned away. He fidgeted with his hidden blade in silence. Had something happened?

"Desmond?" Altaïr asked. "Where is Arno?"

He had to strain to hear him speak, which the Exo did hesitantly.

"Arno…he's, well…I don't know."

Altaïr watched him silently. If Desmond didn't know, then that could bode disaster. Aunor could perhaps provide some information concerning Dorian's whereabouts, being one of Ikora's fellow Hidden. He doubted she would help willingly, however, being caught up with recent studies concerning "strange activity on Mars". Stubborn woman.

"If he is missing as you claim, it could prove fatal. Where was he last seen?"

"Ceres, or at least what's left of it. There's not much there, now, and he was seen passing through by some of the Awoken's Crows."

"Anything else?"

"...No, unfortunately."

Desmond was taking this too personally. True, it was tragic to lose such a close companion, but such a thing was only to be expected and prepared for. He sighed quietly before standing and placing a firm hand on the other man's shoulder.

"I'll tell you when I find anything else," Desmond said quickly, shying away from Altaïr before he even made contact. He seemed to be…"out of it", as Ezio might say. Reliving the past.

Altaïr sighed once again before nodding and sitting back down in his seat. Desmond hurried away and closed the office door behind him quietly, leaving Altaïr to dwell on his thoughts.

The two of them—Desmond and Arno—had been assigned a field mission on a nearby centaur by the name of Nessus, charged to investigate the cause of the sudden spike in Vex activity. Communications had cut off while they were away, causing a bit of a fright among both the public populace and the Tower officials. Arno had been one of the best gunslingers in the Tower since Malphur himself and was in high regard among both Guardian and citizen alike. He had been a member of Fireteam Oryx, traversing the Dreadnought with five other Guardians, Desmond and Altaïr included, to put an end to the Taken King. Maybe he should leave Desmond be for a while. He was an emotional person, exo or not.

He turned back to his work at hand. Best finish this and worry about Arno later. He was fairly certain the Hunter would be fine, anyways.

~o:O:o~

 **ok so yeah my muse smacked me in the face**

 **but 5k chapters are long gone, these short things have risen in rebellion and i dont really object, so.**

 **and yes i am aware that altair is a bit of an emotionless prick right now, just wait.**

 **lots of character development planned for him :)**

 **and again, yes the overarching story is the same as before overall but with fewer characters and more time before things really start to kick off**

 **which is soon**

 **but anyways, thx for reading, maybe drop a review, ill cya in like, a week maybe**


	4. tiger lily

***warning: spoiler alert***

 **if you care at all for the lore in this game then i am warning you, spoilers about the shadows of yor and malphur lie ahead**

 **if you've already read the lore book _for every rose, a thorn_ (you can get the lore entries by getting kills with thorn, its a random drop chance. or just like, look it up) or dont mind spoilers, go ahead and keep going. otherwise, continue at your own risk.**

~o:O:o~

She's got golden skin and hair like sunshine. It almost glows in the fading light of the Wastes.

Dredgen Vale didn't recognize her immediately, but something pricked at his memory. He watched through his scope as the new Guardian's Ghost flew about excitedly. He smiled, one devoid of any mirth. A round of the bullets in his pouch would quickly put an end to that Ghost. They weren't meant for it, though, so Vale continued with his observations.

He shaded his scope with his free hand to prevent any unwanted reflections. The sun was beating down on the desert painfully, the air muggy—almost suffocating—due to an apparent lack of wind.

The woman, now Guardian, seemed utterly lost. As most were—Vale didn't blame them, really, being thrust into a new and confusing world. The kind of world he'd imagine a dedicated pre-golden age author would think up. He'd been lucky. He remembered his past life, hard as it might be to pin down which of them was of himself or one of the others. He shied away from that train of thought as memories of ships and the ocean and _that place_ began to fill his mind. Not his.

A flicker of movement caught his eye as he watched. Dark shapes, crawling in the shadows of the dunes and sporadic bush. His scope swung away from Guardian and Ghost, looking towards the silhouettes.

"Fallen," his Ghost whispered."I would be careful if I were you," she said.

Vale nodded quietly and he lifted his sniper away. The new pair had finally noticed the presence of the Fallen, but he doubted they could do much to defend themselves without a gun.

"Wouldn't hurt to help, I suppose," he mumbled before standing upright. Too many to snipe from here; it would be easier to get into close quarters and take them out with a few bullets and a 'nade, caution be damned.

He leapt from the cliffside in something similar to a swan dive, reveling in the sensation of wind passing through his cloak streaming behind him. A boost and a roll later, and he was on his feet, headed towards the pack.

"I don't think that Ghost would be very happy to be saved by a Shadow, Vale."

"True. I got some time—they haven't seen me yet. Think you can pull off a change before then?"

"Is that a challenge?" his Ghost asked with a hint of amusement.

He only grinned from beneath his helmet as his gun spun into action.

~o:O:o~

It took a surprisingly long time to find the newly-rezzed Guardian and her Ghost after the skirmish had ended. Vale had emerged with minimal damage and, hopefully, a new (potential) ally. Of course, there was the small problem with her Ghost, being that they'd probably recognize him in a heartbeat. If not, then they'd put the pieces together.

Which is why he did not approach them as Dredgen Vale, no.

He found them—er, her—holed up underneath the desert scrub. If not for his Ghost, he doubted he would have found her at all. A huntress, he hoped. She would make a fine one.

"You can come out now," he said quietly after he had removed his helmet. She visibly tensed at the sound of his voice. Both a welcome sign and a worry.

He stayed silent, crouched beside that small hollow as he studied her. Slim, not very tall, well-toned and fit. She bore no sign of any sort of physical stress from revival, which was slightly odd. Her golden hair pooled around her shoulders and obscured her face from his view.

"Where's her Ghost?" his own asked after a few moments more. He shrugged.

"Hiding. For good reason—a smart one, that, to make such a decision."

The other Guardian turned towards him after he finished speaking. Her hair fell away as she gave him an intense blue-eyed stare. He held her gaze as she did so, slightly on edge with the sudden action.

"Who are you?" Her words were heavily accented, but recognizable. He watched her for a moment more before replying.

"Not someone who would hurt you, if that's what you mean."

She studied him with a cold, calculating gaze. That felt like a Warlock. Which was she? He was almost itching to know. She did project an aura of authority about her despite her obvious disadvantage in both skill and position.

She said nothing.

"You gonna come out or not?" he asked, a tad impatient.

"A bit hard in our current position, wouldn't you say?" Her face remained passive. He wasn't sure he liked the sudden coolness this particular Guardian exuded. He grunted and moved aside, providing ample room for her to crawl out of her desert hollow.

The sun had set some time ago, and the night air began to grow chilly. The moon shone down brightly, triumphantly, casting the still-warm desert sands with a bluish light. The Guardian was the center of his attentions, though. He would quite like for her to join his merry band of miscreants, but the chances of that event ever taking place was quite slim.

She was pretty though. Not a pristine or tidy sort of beauty, though. _A tiger lily_ , he thought idly. A type of exquisite beauty, and yet ready to pounce at any given moment.

"Do you have a name?" he asked after she remained silent. She said nothing, only continued watching him with the eyes of a hawk. He sighed.

"You never were good with women, you know," his Ghost said teasingly. He shot her a dead-eyed glare.

"Shut up," he grumbled.

"What were they?"

He raised an eyebrow at the woman's sudden question. "They? You mean the Fallen?"

"Fallen?" She seemed...intrigued. Curious.

"Yes, Fallen. They used to be a noble race, but have since, well, fallen from their former glory. Nearly eradicated in this area of Terra, now that I think about it, actually. They're pirates, and they'll slit your throat in your sleep just for your garbage."

She nodded after a moment of contemplation on her end, before she finally rose to her full height. He'd been right—she wasn't the tallest person around. Maybe a bit over five foot.

He was considering bringing her to the Vanguard, because of her Ghost. Where was the little guy, anyways? He would very much like to bring her back to his camp for testing, but...that might not be very well received. City limits, then? He could always find her later with some help, but… What to do?

"What do I call you, then?"

Her question shook him out of his train of thought rather abruptly. He blinked.

"What?"

"Do you have a name?"

Oh. Yes, he did. Several, in fact. Would he give them to her? No. Both she and her Ghost, wherever it was, didn't need to know about either Shin Malphur _or_ Dredgen Vale.

"Call me Jaren," he said, adopting the name of his former mentor and third father. "Jaren Sol."

She nodded warily. She knew, then, that it wasn't his name. "Then you will call me Sarai."

Sarai. He doubted she knew her real name, which would explain this one. It fit her, yes, but only to an extent. She seemed troubled when she spoke it.

Her Ghost finally showed itself after she spoke. Strange.

"You name your Ghost yet?" he asked. She nodded.

"Libra," she replied with a hand outstretched towards it. A suitable name, he decided.

The Ghost—Libra—was silent as it scanned him out of caution. It seemed troubled by something, but did not say anything.

"You guys should get to the City," his own Ghost decided. She tended to assert herself when he himself didn't make a decision.

Sarai cocked her head at the mention of the City. "You say it as if there is only one."

"Because there _is_ only one," he interjected. "The only one that still stands, at least."

She looked to be dumbfounded. He'd need to get in touch with the other Shadows, tell them what he's up to. He had a lot to teach in the coming weeks, apparently.


	5. catacombs

The catacombs were a series of dark, twisting tunnels burrowing ever deeper into the earth. They smelled of smoke and melted wax from the candles that had burned slowly beside the graves of loved ones. Civilians visited, sometimes, often leaving behind a gift for the fallen. A twig of rosemary here, a small pile of kiwicumber seeds there. A doll leaned against the headstone of a young child a few paces away. Some bore small bowls of ash, the remnants of letters for the dead. Ezio didn't know when the tradition had started, but it was not one he would like to end.

Many had the customary white candles burning beside them. They would light the passages and provide fire to burn the letters written. He'd brought his own with him, folded and tucked into his belt pouch.

An unlit candle stands beside the small headstone he was looking for. The name had worn off ages ago—the only recognizable pattern he sees now is that of a rose blossom. He knew what name it bore, though. Flavia Auditore, Warlock of the Praxic Order. Dead by the hand of Dredgen Yor, who was slain by Shin Malphur.

He shuts the door to the small room when the candle is lit and kneels in front of the grave. Many Ghosts have come down here, looking for their Guardian. The catacombs are always the first place to look. Many Ghosts have come before this grave, only to turn away when no spark is found. He's hoped, he still hopes, but he doubts such a thing would ever come to pass. Very rarely do fallen Guardians ever find a second Ghost.

He leaves a sprig of sage besides the candle and sets the letter in the flame before placing the burning paper inside the small bowl. The candle continues to burn silently as he watches the orange glow of the fire. His letter to her is short today; he hadn't found much to say to her, as of late.

A low rumble shook him out of his reverie as loose pebbles fell from the ceiling above him. He tensed, rising from his position and turning abruptly. Rico hovered beside him uncertainly.

"What was that?" he asked when the rumbling did not return after a few moments.

"4.8 magnitude earthquake," Rico mumbled. "Unnatural source. I–" The Ghost cut off.

Ezio glanced at him, smothering the remaining flames in the room. "What?"

"I– There's no sat feeds."

The Hunter paled considerably. That would happen under express circumstances, when–

"We're under attack," he said quietly before rushing out of the room and up the twisting corridors.

~o:O:o~

Fire lit the courtyards about him and smoke clouded his vision.

Ghedwin's lab had exploded less than a minute ago, not two seconds before his message had come through.

 _Satellites destroyed. Under attack. Be brave._

Desmond didn't think himself worthy to bear the mantle of Guardian of the Last City, but he did not care, not now. Not when the people here needed his help, not when the Cabal tore apart their streets and slaughtered their families.

Today, he would fight.

He snapped his mag back into his rifle with a flick of his wrist before setting the butt into his shoulder and letting loose a spray of bullets. Cabal fell dead right as they set foot in the ruined Courtyard, their bodies peppered with shards of metal. The air stank of burned flesh. But still, they came, thundering down in their arrival pods and roaring with an unmatched ferocity. A bark larger than the bite, truly.

His sensors picked up a flicker of movement at the corner of his vision as he ducked behind cover once more, dropping his now-spent magazine and replacing it with a new. He allowed himself a glance towards the movement—as a precaution, he told himself—and was mildly surprised to see Commander Zavala standing side-by-side with none other than Khezie-4, a former fireteam member he had fought alongside with several times. The Cabal came in waves—to avoid crushing their own foot soldiers, he presumed—and so he gunned down the last of the Legionaries before dashing from his hiding spot and sliding into cover beside them.

"Commander," he said with a salute.

"Guardian." Zavala returned a salute in kind as he reloaded his own auto behind the shattered concrete wall.

"Fine weather we're having today ain't it, Des?" Khezie put in, without a trace of mirth on her pretty exo face.

Zavala grunted.

"An attack on the City is hardly a laughing matter, Warlock."

She said nothing in reply as the next wave of Cabal dropped into the courtyard. Khezie didn't have her normal arsenal equipped, it seemed, using instead a basic training hand cannon and sidearm. He mounted his own auto and fired into the incoming mass, ducking behind cover once more when his mag was empty. His Ghost transmatted him a new weapon as he slid his auto over to Khezie. She nodded in thanks before slipping the hand cannon into its holster and letting loose a spray of bullets.

"To me, Guardians!" Zavala grabbed their attention immediately, and they crowded around him as he threw up a Ward. Cabal missiles blasted into the shield and left Desmond a bit unsteady on his feet, but both exos managed to stay upright.

"Desmond, go find the Speaker. Khezie and I will hold the courtyard." Their Commander's voice was urgent, his eyes fire as he fought to maintain the bubble. He let it drop only after the last of the missiles struck.

Desmond darted off as soon as Khezie gave him the clear, straight towards the Speaker's hall. He passed by burning ruins of shops that had lined the Tower, dead Cabal lying haphazardly in heaps across the broken tiles. Most—if not all—had suffered death by blade. The work of a Hunter. Ezio, he presumed, judging by the clean nature and placement of the wounds he had seen at a glance. He rushed on.

The massive gyroscope in the Speaker's Hall bore the scars of battle. Its' rings were covered in soot and broken, hanging precariously on the remaining limb above the roped off section of the ground. The bookshelves and papers the Speaker had worked so hard on were in flames. Cabal threshers and command ships flew by the open wall to the west, and the City—their beautiful City—was in burning ruins. The Speaker was nowhere to be found.

"Guardian! To me, quickly!"

He drew away from the sight with some effort before turning and heading towards the Warlock Vanguard. Ikora was battered but not bloodied, with minimal soot on her pristine robes. She clutched her rifle in hand and her shotgun was slung across her back. The Void Light emanating off of her was nearly palpable, much to his amazement.

"The Speaker is nowhere to be found. Help me look, please. We _must_ find him, if we are to survive this day," she said, unusually grim.

Today was a day deserving of that attitude.

He could only pray that the Speaker was safe as she led him to the market once again, with fire licking at their heels and gunfire erupting about them.


	6. mountain pines

She paused when she realized he had stopped walking.

He stood a short distance ahead of her, his body tense and looking ready to pounce. The cloak he wore was stagnant at his shoulder, still tattered and torn as always. His Ghost looked nearly as uncomfortable as he did. She _felt_ as uncomfortable as that Ghost looked. No wind in the mountains was just – unnatural.

"Jaren?"

His supposed name felt unfamiliar on her tongue. She wasn't entirely happy he hadn't told her the truth concerning his identity, but she couldn't put it against him after doing such a thing herself.

Jaren turned away from the setting sun and took a step back. "I...It's nothing. There should be a good spot to take a breather not too far from here."

Clearly, it wasn't nothing. He hesitated before turning fully towards her and heading off in a different direction. She frowned, and the world changed to hues of white and grey. He shown blue in her Vision, but that didn't calm her by any means. She scanned through the surrounding area before following after him, weaving between formations of rock and ice up the barely noticable trail of stone and gravel. Sparrows were of no use here, she had learned, after having struggled with the twists and turns of—what she assumed to be—the relatively unknown mountain pass.

She wasn't so sure she believed Jaren's testimony concerning the current urban state of Earth, but she was growing increasingly convinced as time and many miles had passed them by. Not a single sign of a settlement—much less a city—had shown itself. There were many ruins, though. She thought she had recognized the old castle against the mountain they had passed weeks earlier. That land, though snowy now, had held a familiar air about them. One she had wanted to get away from as quickly as this stranger with a gun could take her.

The hike he lead her on took them to a small outcropping with a good view of the mountainous valleys below them. Tall green pines obscured the spot from onlookers, and she could tell this particular vantage point was one well-used and well-loved. This…Hunter…had good taste.

 _"Something's not right, Alyr,"_ Libra said quietly.

She frowned slightly at the use of her name. "Not now, Libra," she mumbled in response. She felt a tad guilty for speaking in such a way to the Ghost, but she couldn't do much in lieu of that. She could only hope that he understood—as things were, he was the only sentient being around that Alyr—Sarai, she told herself, for that was the name she had given him—could remotely trust.

Jaren—she'd call him as such until she was given a proper name—had taken his helmet off and held it in the crook of his elbow. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked towards the sunset yet again, his mouth twisted with distaste. Did the sun itself somehow offend him? She wouldn't be surprised if it had. Jaren Sol (would she ever get used to that name and its' eerie familiarity?) was a man of hard-earned trust and who showed his disapproval without restraint, from what she had seen.

 _"Alyr, I can't connect to the orbital sats. This is serious."_

Her skin prickled as she paused to process what Libra had told her. She hadn't spent much time in this age—alive, that is—but she had spent enough to know that the situation was, indeed, serious. Very serious.

She marched over to Jaren, who was still leaning against the pine with a disturbing amount of concern evident on his features. Jaren Sol, regardless of what his true name was, was not ever concerned. Annoyed and dissatisfied, yes, but not ever concern.

"What's going on?" she demanded. He didn't so much as stir.

"Jaren–"

"I don't know."

That took her by surprise. He didn't know? True, he didn't know everything, but how often did he admit it? This would be the first time he'd done so. How serious was their situation, really?

"I'm guessing something bad has happened back at the City. We'll lay low in the area for a while, alright? I don't want to take any risks."

Her mouth screwed in distaste. She could see the intent behind such an action, but… Well, suffice it to say, she didn't entirely trust this man.

"Or we could keep going and figure out what's going on over there," she said. He raised an eyebrow as he turned away from the ridge and joined her underneath the overhang.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I'm not exactly excited to get to the City, nor are they eager for my return, princess. The only reason I'm taking you is because the Vanguard needs help at the moment, and I'd rather stay in their neutral zone than leave one of their newly-rezzed to the wilds and risk making a new enemy I don't need at the moment."

She folded her arms in a show of stubbornness. She might have thrust her chest out a bit more, too, but that was beside the point. He frowned and shifted his weight to his left foot, his Ghost twirling uncomfortably. Her own was rather livid at the moment.

"Before you say anything," he said as she opened her mouth, "keep in mind that if you _do_ want to go, you're welcome to–"

An overwhelming dizziness came over her—and Jaren, she noticed through the sudden ailment—and she collapsed onto the ground, scraping up her arms and shoulders against the shards of rock littering the ground. Libra fell from the air beside her, but Alyr couldn't find the strength to pick him up. Jaren had managed to stay upright with some difficulty, but his Ghost had also fainted. She thought she saw something fade in the corners of her vision.

Her first reaction was to reach for her blade. The feeling of its hilt in her palm was comforting, strange as that might be. Her second reation was to search. She was still prone on the ground and couldn't quite find the strength to stand, but the spell of dizziness was most definitely an attack of some sort.

"Light preserve us," Jaren whispered. His face was grey and—was that fear? Jaren Sol didn't–

She nearly retched as she tried to reach for her Vision. And suddenly, she understood.

Something—someone—had taken away her Vision. And their Light.

Serious, indeed.


End file.
